They call you black because

2019-02-24


Sometimes words flow out of me, and this newsletter writes itself. Sometimes, like today, I’ve stared at the blinking cursor on the white screen for 45 minutes and I know the words are stuck because I am stuck.

I tend to spend weekends fretting about how much I am not getting done. Last weekend I reorganized drawers and closets until I felt like my apartment felt lighter, freer, closer to ~sparking joy~.

And then I spent Sunday feeling guilty about all the emails I didn’t get to, the mail I haven’t yet sent, the messages to which I haven’t replied.

This weekend I spent time I needed to spend on people, having the conversations I have avoided having. Which meant I didn’t do as much work as I could have done.


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